


You Won’t Believe How I Turned The Situation Around And Got This Angry Beautiful Woman’s Number

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Other, its more like kanaya walks in on something and rose has to convince her its not fucking illegal, rose is a pretty nsfw person in general but nothing HAPPENS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 15:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: Rose considers her options. So, from what she can gather Kanaya Maryam is some sort of supernatural creature as well as one of the most famous socialites in the city (how daring, she admires), is ridiculously naive when it comes to kink, and also thinks Rose in the middle of… torture-murdering one of her fancy friends, or something.She is kind of fucked. Yet also charmed.“Tell you what,” Rose says, examining the gleaming edge of her chainsaw, her spiky heels and nails, the faint hint of fangs in her mouth that she can see now that she’s looking for them and Kanaya’s let her guard down. Gleaming edges and spikes have always been a weakness for her. “Give me your number, and I’ll tell you all about it.”-Three women and a nonbinary individual, all of supernatural natures, flirt shamelessy in increasingly inappropriate situations: the fanfiction.





	You Won’t Believe How I Turned The Situation Around And Got This Angry Beautiful Woman’s Number

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MystBornLord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MystBornLord/gifts).



> Prompt: I love fantasy AUs, especially where the main character's are non-standard species. Like, they all live in a big city and live semi-ordinary lives, but they're all extraordinary beings? How did they get to the city? How did they meet each other? What even ARE they? Because they are definitely not human.

Something that “practically everybody knows” is considered to be common knowledge. So, it’s common knowledge that vampires live in gloomy, dark places, stylish gothic manors or possibly abandoned dusty castles if they’re especially romantic. It’s common knowledge that witches live in huts deep within the woods, the better for collecting ingredients and hiding the screams of their victims within empty distances devoid of helpful and heroic human beings, to dance naked underneath the moon and fly over the clouds on their broomsticks. Werewolves live among nature, surrounded by wandering packs of wolves, free to lose control and hunt down and chase any game that might catch their fancy when the moon is at its fullest.

And angels?

They live in heaven, of course. 

* * *

Davepeta, patron saint of birds, cats, and furries.

That last one may not have been advertised just as strongly by their brothers and sisters. They didn’t blame them! The poor feathery little bastards had just never been afforded the opportunity to gain a sense of humor. They just wished that they’d be able to convince their siblings to come down earth side and try the whole living amongst humans thing out for just a bit. Just look at how much the experience had helped Davepeta grow!

For some reason, their fellow angels negations always grew firmer and more certain whenever Davepeta pointed this out. There was no accounting for taste.

* * *

Dogs hate Jade Harley. This is pretty depressing, because she _loves_ them.

When she was younger her grandpa would send her to live with her graunt and sort-of-cousin-this-family-tree-is-confusing every summer so he could blow off steam and go on his more NSFW adventures, involving a lot of damsels in distress wearing nothing but bright blue body paint. Eugh. This was pretty fun for her, seeing as her graunt ran a dog rescue and adoption home. A whole summer spent frolicking and running around with dozens of barking dogs, her time spent more often with canine company than human, sleeping in warm furry piles of breathing bodies instead of underneath a roof in a bed. Her graunt didn’t mind. Jake was a little bit jealous of her attention, but he dealt with it.

And then one summer, _one,_ she went hiking with her grandpa into the woods to stalk some very odd and intriguing animals tracks instead, just a little weeks detour.

When she finally visited her graunt after a _months_ detour, bandages covering a horrifyingly large and deep wound on her midsection explained away as a nasty fall of a middle sized cliff onto some rocks, the dogs didn’t want to sleep in a cuddle pile with her any longer, and they didn’t want to run or frolick either. They whined and they growled and they edged away at the mere scent of her.

It was _unfair._ Well, at least she could navigate her way throughout a city with her eyes closed going by nothing but her nose to guide her. That _totally_ made up for the way she tore her couch apart once a month, forcing her to go hunting yet again for the cheapest one she could find on Craigslist.

Sure. Being a werewolf was fucking awesome, no downsides whatsoever.

_Totes._

* * *

Rose does not want to get naked in public, she hates nature, she has terrible night vision, she does not like to do any dance without strict rules so she won’t make a fool of herself (the macarena lies in that limbo where she will look stupid doing it even if she does everything right, but she can play it off as ironic if she plays her cards right), and she most certainly does not want to get _naked,_ in a _forest,_ during the _night,_ and then _dance._ It sounded like a recipe for disaster and mosquito bites.

By those standards, she’s a pretty terrible witch. Her mother’s the only mentor she’s ever head though, and she’s pretty sure her mother was just fucking with her, as she so often had been. The fact that she lived by most of the rules she preached didn’t prove anything. They keyword here was most. She lived deep within the woods, in a luxurious penthouse. She danced naked underneath the moon, but only in the living room with the window open at the most, and she frequently danced naked in the living room when the moon was nowhere in sight anyways. Not to mention that Rose was pretty sure it was just because her mother liked dancing and after a certain amount of bottles she decided that clothes were just too hot for her.

Anyways. Rose carried on the dubiously proud tradition of only sort of following the rules of Being a Proper Witch. She bought her herbs at the Farmer’s Market, she had an enchanted vacuum cleaner instead of a broom (and she only used it for cleaning), she lived in the heart of the city, not a treeline in sight, and she most certainly didn’t dance anywhere that wasn’t a nightclub. She tried to make up for it by filling her apartment with the screams of victims far more than her mother, though.

So what if there was a lot of leather involved and the “victims” were decidedly enthusiastic?

* * *

Kanaya is abnormal, by all possible standards.

By human standards: she is friendly and funny and outgoing, yet she never ever smiles with her teeth, avoids skin on skin contact, and doesn’t eat with others. She is stylish and elegant, with her clothing and prize winning topiary, yet she makes gross shockingly hilarious jokes just occasionally enough that it is just as shocking each time, and one of her guests once whispered at a party that she had taken the wrong door to the bathroom and opened a closet with a _chainsaw_ in it. _For topiary use,_ Kanaya had assured her, appearing abruptly and silently at her shoulder, prompting more than a few screams and thus some brief staring from guests more distant from the ongoing conversation. _It had had some rusty red stuff on it,_ the guest had recovered and, unwisely, continued. _Tree sap,_ Kanaya had calmly explained, smiling her usual close mouthed smile, elegant dark red lipstick applied expertly and perfectly as always.

None of the attending guests had known enough about topiary or tree sap to challenge her on that statement.

By vampire standards: she risks her life by killing hostile undead that don’t even threaten her hunting grounds, and her cover by needlessly interacting with humans every single day. Multiple humans. At once. Frequently. _In a friendly manner._ Not in a way that shows that she’s grooming them for feeding or turning, it almost seems like she doesn’t even lay a fang on a single one of them. It’s almost as if she enjoys their presence and companionship. But that, of course, would be ridiculous.

Not as ridiculous as the rumor that she can walk underneath sunlight unharmed, however.

* * *

Davepeta knows instantly that the woman standing in front of the counter is one of their own. Comes with the whole badass angel mojo thing. And as she isn’t a bird or a cat that can only mean one thing.

They grin at her slowly, revealing their perhaps-a-little-too-sharp canines (they hadn’t been able to resist), like the cat stalking the canary. The bird side of them was unsettled by the metaphor while the cat side of them was excited; perhaps she shouldn’t have chosen two animals that opposed each other as their domain. But, well, they’d just felt so right.

The woman, tall, buff, dark, with an impressive mane of hair that went past her hips smiled back at her brightly with only the slightest hint of something-is-wrong-I-can-sense-it creeping out of the edges of the dazzling grin. Buckteeth, sharp incisors to rival their own.

“Um,” she said, her voice incongruously light and feminine. “Just browsing.”

“Just not finding what you’re looking for, you mean,” they purr, sprawling across the counter languidly.

The woman stiffens. There are some beads hanging off the side of her long green hippy skirt, and Davepeta wants to bat at them and snatch them away to store away in their nest full of shiny things at their apartment simultaneously. The two urges collide, and thankfully paralyse them long enough for Davepeta to get ahold of themself and force themself to look away from the fun toy/precious shiny. The woman hasn’t seemed to have noticed Davepeta’s brief distraction, still stiff and tensely waiting for an elaboration. Probably the sunglasses doing, that.

Well, Davepeta wasn’t ready to disappoint; if there was one thing they loved, it was any excuse to keep talking. Not that they needed an excuse.

“You’re not here for Marvel or DC, I can tell.” Their grin turned sly. “Unless you’re here for copies of Squirrel Girl or Big Anthro Dicks--”

The woman squeaked and dived across the counter without hesitation and pressed a hand over Davepeta’s mouth. Her large hand covered almost half of their face. _Hot,_ a part of them whispered deep inside of them, and they realized it was true. She _was_ hot.

Davepeta licked the palm of that broad hand, and the woman snatched it back with yet another squeak. Davepeta wouldn’t mind hearing that squeak again under different circumstances, nor would they mind licking the woman in different circumstances. Such as in, say, a bedroom.

“I know a ef, ew, ar, ar, why, when I see one,” they continued, tilting their head so that the woman could see their best angle. Davepeta’s selfie game was fucking raw; they had this.

The woman wiped her palm on her skirt (down the length of her muscular thigh, _wow),_ and cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Can’t spell? That’s alright, I don’t judge.” They leveled her with a Look over their shades, hopefully a smoldering one instead of penetrating (actually, _penetrating_ might not be so bad either, ha, get it?). “In any way,” they stressed, hoping the multiple levels of the statement got through to the woman. “I know a furr--”

“Okay! I get it!!”

“I’m not trying to tease here.” A corner of their mouth tilted up playfully. “Or at least, not _just.”_

Davepeta left the counter and the woman raised an eyebrow. “Follow me,” they said in an airy mysterious voice, yet unable to shake the playful grin. “And I’ll show you wonders the likes of which you’ve never witnessed in the,” they dramatically tossed the beaded curtain covering the doorway with the sign above it that said Employees Only away, _“backroom.”_

The woman gasped.

Furry comics, as far as the eye could see. Mostly because the light bulb near the back of the room had gone out a couple of weeks ago and they hadn’t gotten around to changing it yet.

“Welcome to your, utopia, your refuge, Miss…?”

“Harley,” the woman said, eyes wide and sparkling with toe-curling excitement already. “Jade Harley.”

“Pretty name,” Davepeta said.

Damn straight they got her phone number at the end of the day.

* * *

“No way,” Jade said.

“Yes way,” Rose Lalonde responded flatly, looking her dead in the eye.

She shook her head disbelievingly. “I’ve tried everything. Body language lessons, slowly exposing them to me in small does, fuck, I even bathed in goddamn _bacon perfume--_ did you know that that was a thing?”

“If you’re so incredulous, then why contact me in the first place?” An elegant, expertly plucked eyebrow arched.

“Well, I’ve tried _everything._ I guess I kind of want to keep that up.”

“Well then, here’s what you’ve got to do keep that up. Apply this poultice every night before you go to bed to the places on your body that… produces the most smells--”

“Like my pits?” she asked.

“Hopefully just that. And then say this chant every morning when you wake up thrice. Dogs will be not just be willing to tolerate your presence, they’ll be all over you. Trust me.” She handed her a piece of paper which, when Jade read it, seemed to have a very silly poem written on it in a chicken scratch scrawl.

“That’s not my handwriting,” Rose hurried to correct her assumption. A little _too_ hurriedly.

“Uh huh,” Jade nodded.

“No, really,” she said.

“I believe you.”

“I had my brother write that down for me.”

“Sure!”

“My hands were full at the time.”

“Rose,” Jade met Rose’s eye with a direct stare. _“I believe you.”_

Rose seemed to momentarily relax.

“But just so you know, it’s a very _cute_ handwriting--”

“It isn’t mine!”

“Okay, so prove it.”

Rose produced a fountain pen from seemingly nowhere with a graceful flourish. She looked around herself before digging up a crumpled pharmacy receipt from between the couch cushions and smoothing it out on her thigh. “Right. Any requests?”

“Your phone number?” Jade was the _most_ cunning, it was her. She barely suppressed an impish giggle.

Rose looked at her blankly for a moment before she turned her attention towards her task, mouth twitching minutely upwards at the corners. A giggle slipped away from Jade’s control. This was totally working.

Sure enough, when Rose handed Jade the receipt, the numbers written on its back were beautiful loops and curls.

“Okey dokey,” Jade said. “I believe you.” She would tactfully not mention the fact that she could see a slight resemblance between the 6’s of the receipt and b’s of the poem. She gave her her most charming smile before leaving the woman who had advertised her services on a Craigslist add (randomly seen while shopping for the month’s couch), and Rose gave her a warm handshake that lingered in a somehow suggestive way.

Jade waved the receipt triumphantly in the air as she went home, tub of poultice and poem in her handbag. Now, if the poultice didn’t work she’d have a way to get her revenge on the person who had tricked her into spending a hundred dollars for the privilege of smearing her pits with stinky green useless goop and read weird limericks about dogs.

And if it _did_ work, well, she’d have a way of tracking down the person who she owed so much to. And so dearly wanted to show her gratitude to, hehe.

It was a good thing Davepeta was fine with open relationships.

* * *

Rose Lalonde and Kanaya Maryam’s social circles didn’t overlap overly much. Rose kept to occultists willing to try out her various cures and crystals and recommending her along to their friends and acquaintances. Hey, she had to make a living somehow, and she didn’t really enjoy spending with people who sneered at her for practicing new age medicine-- she _wasn’t,_ but she got where they were coming from. Still though, there was only so many times she could smirk coyly and pretend not to be annoyed.

Kanaya Maryam rubbed shoulders with a specific kind of upper crust in the city. The models, the fashion designers, and the artists were the ones who nibbled hors d'oeuvres at her parties, making sure to laugh gaily at every joke while trying to find an opportunity to casually mention their next art exhibition, to make a seemingly carefree “oh you simply _must_ come!” invitation to their next fashion show during which they’ll coincidentally be the main attraction on the catwalk.

The small sliver where the venn diagram of Rose and Kanaya’s social circles _did_ overlap was, of course, the kinky fuckers. Models, designers, and artists are almost always as a rule terribly sexually depraved. Some of them were the combination of the specific kind of depraved and specific kind of beautiful that meant they were some of Rose’s regulars.

And this is how Rose’s first meeting with Kanaya Maryam goes: as fucking terribly as can be possibly imagined. It is an all around angry, accusatory, and straight up terrifying experience. It’s a good thing that Rose finds most of things kind of attractive, then.

For starters, Kanaya Maryam starts off the encounter by kicking Rose’s apartment door straight off it’s fucking hinges (in _heels)._

“It wasn’t even locked,” she says faintly.

Kanaya Maryam is wearing a stylish jade cocktail dress that’s covered in fresh blood spatter, none of it her own apparently, and in her freshly manicured hands she’s effortlessly and with great vigor, energy, and enthusiasm hefting around a running chainsaw that has clearly encountered more than one victim tonight and come out the other side the victor. Rose supposes she can only be grateful that she hadn’t saw fit to chainsaw her way through Rose’s door instead of just kicking it down.

“Oh,” she responds, pausing awkwardly before visibly gathering her composure and moving on as if nothing had just been said. “Foul wench!”

Rose chokes. It looked like the conversation was off to a promising start. What it promised, she wasn’t quite ready to say yet.

“Miss Maryam,” she replies with a dignified nod. As dignified as one can get when only wearing their most expensive lingerie, one high heel firmly resting on a tied up, gagged, and stunned Swedish underwear model that had been moments prior very preoccupied paying attention to _her_ instead of any other women holding unusual weaponry, riding crop held casually in one hand. On second thought, she manages to look dignified as _hell._

“So you know of me,” Kanaya says, ignoring the underwear model who seemed to be sporting a pretty strong fear boner. Rose insisted to herself that she deserved all of the credit for that one, she’d been hard at work for almost an hour. “You must be confident to take one of the humans you must surely know I socialize with, considering my reputation.” She idly rests her chainsaw on her shoulder as she slowly steps further into the room.

Underwear model taps the ground twice, which means that she has to pause the scene and take out his gag out and ask him what’s wrong. She does so.

“Is this, like, some sort of roleplay scenario?”

Rose thinks about how many forget-me-nots she has left and groans inwardly at the idea of having to go and find some more before the end of the month. Amnesia tea is _right_ out.

“Sure,” she says.

“Uh, okay, cool, I think I’m willing to try it out? Just warn me the next time you decide to do something different, please.”

She smiles pleasantly at him, nods, and puts his gag back in. She grinds her heel into his back and fixes her attention back on Kanaya, who is rapidly beginning to look very confused.

“Hang on,” Rose says. “Did you not realize what this was as soon as you walked in?”

“Um,” Kanaya says. “And… what exactly is this?”

“This is going in a way different direction than I thought it would,” the underwear model mumbles, and Rose sends him a glare that makes him shiver and fixes the gag more firmly.

Rose considers her options. So, from what she can gather Kanaya Maryam is some sort of supernatural creature as well as one of the most famous socialites in the city _(how daring,_ she admires), is ridiculously naive when it comes to kink, and also thinks Rose in the middle of… torture-murdering one of her fancy friends, or something.

She is kind of fucked. Yet also charmed.

“Tell you what,” Rose says, examining the gleaming edge of her chainsaw, her spiky heels and nails, the faint hint of fangs in her mouth that she can see now that she’s looking for them and Kanaya’s let her guard down. Gleaming edges and spikes have always been a weakness for her. “Give me your number, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Ten minutes later, and Rose cannot fucking believe that that worked. That’s definitely going in her top ten of You Won’t Believe How I Turned The Situation Around And Got This Angry Beautiful Woman’s Number.

* * *

It is common knowledge that supernatural creatures live alone, far away from civilization, to hide, for self preservation, to isolate their prey. Witches cackle alone to their cats, werewolves are all lone wolves that howl sadly at the full moon, vampires lure people far away from any who might help them and then swiftly dispose of them because people are just food to them, and angels sit on clouds and play harps and look elegant and beautiful and transcendent for painters.

They definitely don’t all live in a huge city apartment together, people generally agree. They don’t help each other with their werewolf stink and stop each other from eating the couch when they aren’t thinking straight, they don’t help each other get the right herbs and find the right clients and see how fun it can be to dance around naked, they don’t help each other wash the blood out of their expensive clothes and create alibis and hide evidence and keep each other entertained when everyone else at the party is too stuffy, and they don’t help each other preen their large wings and do shameless yiffing/rap contests. And they most certainly don’t all sleep together in a large commision made bed.

That would be ridiculous.


End file.
